Nothing But Ordinary
by MonsterSlut
Summary: After moving into 221C Baker Street, Lindsey Hall has managed to keep herself out of sight of the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes and his partner John Watson in fear that they would figure out her secret. In an attempt to save Mrs Hudson's life her whole world is exposed to the two men but instead of fear she see's intrigue and intrigue is what frightens her...
1. Welcome to London

**One**  
For the first time in over a thousand years she found herself able to walk freely in the sun. The warmth on her skin was a feeling that had been totally foreign to her since she had been reborn into the darkness of the world.  
She had only been nineteen when she was turned on the night before her wedding. She had been excited for months, in the year 1806 there was only one profession for a young woman in the world and that was 'housewife'. But she didn't care. Hers wasn't an arranged marriage like that of her siblings, hers was a marriage of love.  
The man that had been courting her for twelve months was a moderately successful lawyer who worked in her father's law firm. Michael Hall had been more than happy to accept his you protégée into the family.  
But the night before her wedding, something came into her room, raped her and killed her.  
The only problem was that Lindsey Hall didn't stay dead.  
For the next thousand years she would rip a bloody path through England, Ireland and France before learning to live peacefully beside the humans who she had hated with all her black little heart.  
In the year 1959 she decided to 'go to ground' or as it was commonly known as the fifty year sleep. When she woke up, she had found that she had just missed her one thousandth birthday by three years and that she could know call herself a Daywalker. The sun no longer burnt her flesh more made her ill, she could pass herself off as a normal human being.  
She found herself a nice flat in the middle of central London and with the discovery of a human invention of the Internet she started to catch up on everything that she had missed. When she had gone to sleep the Cold War had been raging hot but now Russia and America were living an uneasy truce with each other.

Lind carved out her own little home in 221C Baker Street, the only friend he had was a nice little old lady called Mrs Hudson but she didn't mean anyone else keeping an eye on her which why when two men moved into 221B Baker Street she found her private life threatened.

She knew that one of the men was a consulting detective by the name of Sherlock Holmes who could supposedly identify an airline pilot by his tie and a computer programmer by his left thumb. She was more than sure that he would pin her for what she really was.

The second man, a Doctor John Watson, was a former army doctor who was looking purely for a place to stay and a flatmate to share the rent with. He would be easy to fool but the consulting detective would not be.

On the outside, Lind looked like she was a young nineteen year old student with coal black hair littered with bright red streaks, she had jade green eyes that would turn blood red when she reverted to her vampire nature, her skin was alabaster smooth, almost porcelain in colour, she stood at least five foot three with long, runners legs and a curvy figure that never changed.

She had lovers over the course of her life but none were ever worthy enough to stick around. Lind would feed off her lovers, wipe their minds and send them on their way but with the added addition of her new neighbours she could only feed once or twice a week. She never killed a victim unlike others of her kind.

Lind didn't work much, she didn't need to. She lived off the accumulated wealth she had gathered over the past several hundred years but when she needed to, the vampire would take on jobs that included disposing of rogue vampires who killed humans. Just because they were blood sucking fiend didn't mean that they approved of killing humans. The world wasn't ready to know about them just yet.

The boys at 221B Baker Street had been living there for about a year before she actually even met them. It was by sheer accident actually.

The vampire was lying in her bed listening to her cat Sergio purring in his sleep as well as the sounds of London on the street outside when she heard a thump followed by a tiny scream. She sat up, Sherlock and John were not home, she'd tagged their essence when they first moved in so she could keep an eye on them. Mrs Hudson, however, was home and she was in Sherlock's apartment-most likely cleaning up. The vampire liked the younger woman, she was always popping in for a chat and a cup of tea which was so very British.

She got out of bed with all the grace of a cat before she started upstairs to the boys apartment.

When she got there, the door was wide open, broken off its hinges, an armed guard stood at the door. He looked like the type of man who used his size to overpower his foes, Lind was one thousand and three years old, size had nothing to do with it.

He looked up at her when he saw her approach him. "Kthehet rreth, kjo është asnjë nga biznesin tuaj, (turn around, it's none of your business)" he growled.

_Albanian's_, Cas thought. And it was her business, Sherlock was stupid enough to stick his nose in the criminal underworld so of cause others would get burnt. She stopped only inches from where he was standing. "Kjo është e biznesit tim, (this is my business)," she replied in perfect Albanian before she slammed her hand upwards, sending his nose right back into his brain, killing him instantly. "Mirë se vini në Londër, (welcome to London)," she growled before she stepped over him and into the apartment.

Mrs Hudson was sitting on a chair with a man standing behind her who had a tight grip on her shoulder. The grip looked like it hurt and was going to leave bruises. She had a dark purple bruise on her face and a scratch from being hit hard with a hand that had a ring on it.

"Le të saj të shkojnë, (let her go)," Cas ordered.

"You speak Albanian?" questioned the leader of this little endeavour. He got up off the couch with a sickening smile on his face. "Your language is flawless by the way," he admired. "You don't even have the accent that most foreigners have when they learn the language. What's your name?"

Lind just stood there wearing a pair of red and black lacy boy leg underwear and a shirt that had the famous blue Smurfette on it. She didn't like to sleep in much if not anything at all. "Lindsey Hall," she replied.

"Kill her," he ordered.

The man who was holding Mrs Hudson to the chair drew his gun and shot her.

Lind felt the bullet enter through her stomach but to her this was no more then suffering a paper cut. She placed her hand over the wound and lifted it up to see the blood that covered her hand before she licked it. "Blood is the currency of the soul," Lind whispered before her eyes turned red and her fangs extended.

The first was to die was the brute who had touched Mrs Hudson. She snapped his neck, not even bothering to make a meal out of him.

The other two brutes who were obviously searching for something were the next to die.

Their leader was frozen in his place on the couch making a sign against evil on her chest.

Lind walked back past Mrs Hudson, placing one finger against her head to wipe her memories of her ever even being here before she lowered her gently to the ground in a spelled sleep.

She looked at the leader and pulled him up off the couch. "Now I'm going to need to fix this damage you caused!" she snapped before she slammed him up against the wall.

The Albanian's scream was cut off when Lind sunk her fangs into his neck.

The warm, thick ruby red liquid ran down the back of her throat, giving her body the ability to heal the gunshot and propel the bullet from her body.

She lowered the Albanian to the ground, stopping feeding on him before his death pulled her along for the ride.

Now that she was done taking the garbage out, Lind let her vampire nature slide to the back of her mind only to find that she was being watched.

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson were standing in the doorway watching the scene before them. Instead of horror, they both wore a look on intrigue on their faces.

Intrigue was what frightened her.


	2. Holmes

**Two**

Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes had just witnessed the most extraordinary thing in his very short twenty-eight years of life.

For almost a year now he had been trying to deduce a single fact or figure out about his silent neighbour and vampirism would never have been one of them. The only thing that he knew was that her name was Lindsey Hall according to Mrs Hudson but she liked to be called Lind. His brother Mycroft had warned Sherlock that the Albanian's were making a move on his flat and he had rushed home with John to protect Mrs Hudson but their neighbour was already at work.

She stood there in the middle of a grisly scene looking like a child who had had their hand caught in the cookie jar-so to speak.

"Is Mrs Hudson ok?" John asked, not daring to make a move.

"She's sleeping," Lind answered. "I didn't want her to see any of that."

"I didn't want to see any of that," John replied in a matter-of-fact tone before he rushed over to Mrs Hudson to check her pulse.

"I can always wipe you if you're going to whinge like a girl," Lind informed him.

"Don't you dare," Sherlock ordered. He approached Lind, "I've been trying to figure you out, Lindsey Hall. The absent neighbour whose coming and goings appear to be most sinister."

"Mrs Hudson is fine Sherlock," John told him. "We should take her to her flat and put her to bed."

"One moment," Lind cut in. She knelt down beside Mrs Hudson and pierced her finger on one of elongated canines before she opened the land lady's mouth and placed a single droplet of blood on her tongue.

The cuts and bruises on Mrs Hudson's face vanished as though they were never even there.

"That was amazing," John whispered. He looked at her, "how did you do that?"

"Vampire blood heals any wounds," Lind answered. "As long as I don't feed from her and she doesn't ingest any more blood she won't be enthralled to me."

John shook his head. "You're amazing." He picked Mrs Hudson up and took her out, leaving Lind and Sherlock alone.

"I need to go and order a clean-up," Lind told Sherlock. "My phone's downstairs." She pushed past him, tempted to wipe his mind but there were some people who were unable to be wiped and Sherlock Holmes would be one of them.

"I'll call my brother Mycroft," Sherlock announced. "He has men watching myself and John all the time. If someone he does not know comes to the flat and takes away bodies, Mycroft will track them down."

Lind crossed her arms. "No. I don't want you to. I would rather no one knows about the vampire that lives in London, least of all a man like Mycroft Holmes. He's practically the British Government. My kind doesn't need that sort of man hunting us."

"You know of my brother?" Sherlock asked with a smile.

Lind raised an eyebrow. "I'm over a thousand years old, I'm not a moron. I've seen him come and go at times. Now please excuse me I need to call that clean up."

"No need," came the droll voice of Mycroft Holmes as he came up the stairs.

Lind froze in place.

"I came to see if my brother was ok and I see you've made a bit of a mess, Lindsey," Mycroft observed. "One such as yourself cannot afford to stick out in a crowd can they?"

"Excuse me?" Lind frowned.

Mycroft smile. "You are a vampire are you not? I make it a point of knowing who exactly was living in my brother's house with him. There is nothing I cannot find."

"You knew?" Sherlock and Lind frowned.

The elder Holmes nodded. "Yes, I did. The nature of your world is starting to become evident to those of us in higher places," Mycroft informed her. "Which is why I am here. We want to offer you a job."

Lind cocked her head to the side. "Excuse me? Did I just hear you say you want to offer me a job?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes. You already clean the streets up of rogue vampires who kill humans, we would be glad to pay you to do so."

Lind paused. "On one condition," she added. "If you fuck me over in anyway, I will burn you. I will burn you, and everyone around you, friends, family, even your drycleaner. I will carve a bloody path of vengeance through your life just as I carved myself a path through Hitler's forces before I went to ground. You will learn quickly, Mycroft Holmes, that I am not a woman to be fucked with." She walked past him and turned around. "Send whatever contracts you have to my lawyer. His name is Alistair Birch but be careful when you meet him, vampires aren't the only creatures that walk this earth. Alistair is a Dealer, he will trade you for whatever you want for the tiny price of your soul. Now I'm going to enjoy what little rest I can have before the sun comes up. Morning boys."

Sherlock turned to his brother with an unfamiliar smile on his face. "I like her."

Mycroft laughed. "Of course you would. The very idea of death appeals to you so she would."


	3. Body In The Park

**Three**

It was one in the afternoon and as Lind sat on the floor of her longue room playing partita no. two in d minor by Johann Sebastian Bach she found that she had an audience.

Sherlock was standing in the doorway listening to her with a look of bliss his face. "You play rather flawlessly."

"I've had a lot of time practice," Lind admitted as she put the violin down in its case. "What do you want from me?"

"John's at work," Sherlock announced. "I was wondering if you would join me in a current case that has come to my attention."

"The one on the news?" Lind asked, referring to the case about little girls being abducted and found exactly seven days later with their skin and hair bleached, dressed in a white silk dress with a blue silk sash tied around their waist, a pair of white slip on shoes and a fragile gold necklace with the word _angel_ hanging off the chain. So far exactly three children had been found this way, the forth had been found this morning.

"I imagine you've seen a lot of death during your years," Sherlock announced.

Lind nodded. "I have. I've been on the delivering end on many occasions. Especially during my youth."

Sherlock grinned. "Care to see some more?"

Lind smirked. "Hell yes," she replied. "Just let me put some clothes on."

Sherlock waited for Lind whilst she went into her bedroom to change. His neighbours flat was remarkably full of random clutter and lots of books. She appeared to be the type who got bored easily and moved onto something else.

She came out of her room, midway through pulling a shirt on. Lind was wearing a pair of red Converse All Stars, a black pair of skinny jeans, a black shirt she was holding a jacket in her hands with a shoulder bag.

"Have they identified the girl?" Lind asked when she locked her flat up and followed Sherlock down to hail a cab.

Sherlock frowned. "I don't know. It wasn't on the news and Lestrade didn't tell me. All he did was text me and ask me to join him at Postman's Park."

Lind pulled her phone out of her bag after they got into the cab. She started pulling up any information about the crimes. She could barely even remember being that young, there were some flashes of her playing games in the backyard with her sisters and a kiss on the head when her mother tucked her in at night but that was all she could remember.

"Upset about something?" Sherlock asked her.

Lind turned to him. "I'd give it all up just to be human again," she told him. "I look at the girls-I can't even remember what my sisters look like. My eldest sister, Anna, was about to have a baby, my other sister Elizabeth was about to get married to some guy called Jacob Lestrade. These poor girls."

"I never thought of it that way," Sherlock frowned. "Being a vampire must be exciting."

Lind shrugged. "It has its perks. I'm over a thousand years old so I'm classed as an Elder. I can Daywalk, I don't need invitations to go inside someone's home, dead blood still affects me, silver just tickles, take my head off-I'm dead for real."

"Ever sired anyone?" Sherlock asked her.

Lind shook her head. "No. I can't abide the thought of actually chasing after a newborn or a student. The very idea is deplorable."

"Or you haven't found the right student," Sherlock suggested.

"I'm not turning you, Sherlock," Lind replied.

Sherlock smiled. "I wasn't going to ask you."

"Good," she declared.

"Fine," Sherlock answered.

The cab pulled over on the side of the road near the park, Sherlock got out first leaving Lind to pay the cab fare, not that it mattered because she had money but it was obvious that chivalry was dead and buried.

A woman of African descent walked up to the crime scene tape with a scowl that Lind assumed was permanently attached to her face. "What are you doing here freak?" she asked. "Who's she?"

"Sergeant Sally Donovan," Sherlock smiled. "This is Lindsey Hall, a colleague of mine."

"First John Watson and now another one?" she sneered. "One would start to think you're growing a heart, freak."

"Hearts are over-rated," Lind replied when she ducked underneath the tape. "What I don't understand is why normal people like to call people like Sherlock a freak. Normalcy is boring. It's the normal people who are the freaks. Sherlock's brilliant, utterly brilliant and you lash out simply because you have an inferiority complex at a civilian doing a better job than the so called police who are meant to protect the public."

Donovan stared at her.

"Now I do believe that there is a dead child to investigate or are you going to stand there try and prove yourself?" Lind asked her.

Sherlock grinned.

Donovan lifted her walkie-talkie to her mouth. "Sherlock's here, bringing him in now."

Sherlock looked over at Lind, during the years he'd been working with Scotland Yard never had Sally Donovan once called him by his name. She'd only called him 'freak'.

Lind followed Sherlock and Donovan to a small clearing by a lake where the police had cordoned off an area around the body of a young girl.

"Where's John?" questioned Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. "And who is she?"

"Lindsey Hall," Lind answered as she held out her hand to shake his.

Lestrade smiled. "Nice to meet you, where's John?"

"Work," Sherlock replied. "I brought Lindsey along because I sound better when I talk to people then when I think."

Lestrade handed Lind and Sherlock a pair of gloves. "Don't muck up the crime scene," he ordered.

"What do you see?" Sherlock asked her.

Lind pulled her gloves on and walked over to the body with an unreadable look on her face. She knelt down beside the girl and took a deep breath. "She's eight years old," Lind answered. "Only child in a wealthy family, very pretty. Original hair colour would be brown judging by the eyes. Only a brunette has those colour eyes."

"Well done," Sherlock answered.

Lind ran her hand over the silk. "This is Crepe de Chine silk, it's expensive, drawstring pouches and some of the larger fashionable scarves are made of Crepe de Chine silk. The silk is too soft to hold a structured shape." She looked over at Lestrade, "you should contact someone in the fashion business, a designer, ask them where you can find a seller who will sell large quantities of Crepe de Cine silk and also find out who can knock up a dress of the fabric. Not many people will be able to do it."

Lestrade stared at Lind. "Sherlock where did you dig her up?"

"She's my neighbour," Sherlock replied.

Lind smiled. She looked at the shoes, "these are Pom D'api brand shoes, expensive again. Easy to trace if the killer has bought them in quantity." She ran her hands underneath the body and stopped. She could feel something underneath the dress and when she pulled it out she froze. It was a silver Celtic cross on a chain of rosary beads.

She knew instantly what it was.

The cross belonged to an organisation of the Catholic Church that the vampire had dealings in with in the past. They were a branch of the church that specialised in taking out any and all vampires. These little girls were not vampires so it meant that someone was trying to draw the organisations attention and blame the crimes on vampires. _The Iscariot Organisation,_ Lind scowled.

She turned the pendant over and saw a series of scratches and symbols that would look like nothing to the humans but to her it said one word – _Moriarty_.

Lind had heard that name somewhere.

"What's that?" Lestrade asked her.

She shrugged. "No idea. But I'm willing to be that if you go back to the other crime scenes and look around you will find one of these at each scene."

Lestrade took the pendent off her. "Thank you Miss Hall."

"Lind," she corrected. "You can call me Lind," she smiled.

"Lind," he nodded. "Thank you Lind. Sherlock I don't know where you find them."

Lind walked away from the crime scene and pulled her phone out of her pocket to Google Moriarty.

"What did you find?" Sherlock asked her.

"Nothing that you should concern yourself with," Lind told him. She looked him in the eyes, "focus on the girls. I'll deal with the people behind this. Even Mycroft is ill-equipped to deal with them."

She walked away from him.

Sherlock frowned.

It wasn't fun having information kept from him.


	4. Information Trade

**Four**

_Moriarty…the man shot himself on the roof of St Barts Hospital…he should be dead…unless…_

Lind pulled her phone out and sent a text to the men who sent her after the rogues.

**Need information on James Moriarty – LH**

She sat her phone down on the couch next to her and leant back to focus on the roof of her flat.

Sergio watched her intently from the opposite side of the room, his amber eyes unblinking and ever watchful.

It was at least an hour before Lind even got a response.

**~ WARNING. TURNED BY ISCARIOT USING VIRUS ENGINEERED BY HIS OWN PEOPLE. WE HAVE YET TO DISCOVER THEIR MOTIVE OR MORIARTY'S MOTIVE. DO NOT ENGAGE ~**

Lind laughed. _A fake vampire?_

**Permission to engage no required. I'm an Elder, we don't play with the same rules you set for others – LH**

She got up and searched for Mycroft's number to text him.

**We need to meet. I'll come to you – LH**

Lind pulled on a pair of her favourite red knee high 'fuck me' boots and pulled her jacket on before she headed out. She could feel Sherlock upstairs working on the case but that really wasn't on her mind at that current moment time.

At this time of afternoon, Lind knew that the elder Holmes would be at a private establishment called the Diogenes Club. She made her way to the quieter part of London where she once owned a house there before she sold it and went to ground. She looked around before taking a flying leap over the fence and honing in on Mycroft.

The elder Holmes was sitting on a balcony enjoying an afternoon cup of tea in the silence. He was continually looking at his phone to check the time and when he came back up for another drink of his tea, her found Lind was sitting beside him like she'd been there for a long time.

"What took you?" Mycroft smiled.

Lind slid a piece of paper over to him.

Silence.

"Who exactly is Moriarty?" she asked him. "I had a look at John's blog and he said that the good consulting criminal was dead. Now my organisation tells me his own people engineered a virus to turn him into one of us."

"He's using the girls as bait against Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. "Isn't he?"

Lind nodded. "Must be. Every fairy tale needs a good old-fashion villain. However if this villain is gifted the abilities of a vampire he will not stop until he had Sherlock's blood running freely through his fingers."

"You're such a poet," Mycroft noted. "Have you told Sherlock?"

Lind shook her head. "No I haven't. I thought it best that I wait."

"You learn fast," Mycroft smiled.

"I'm a good obedient little dog," Lind laughed. "Sherlock will find out eventually that Moriarty is involved in all of this. He has to be told Mycroft."

"Will you tell him?" Mycroft asked.

Lind shrugged. "I suppose it would be better if I had a little more evidence than just his name on the back of pendant in vampire tongue."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Mycroft inquired.

"I have friends in low places," Lind grinned. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the contacts, stopping only when she found Scud in her list.

**Organise a meeting for me with Moriarty. Usual payment will be sent to you – LH**

Lind stood up. "Nice meeting with you Mycroft. I trust Alistair has my papers?"

"He'll contact you in the morning for a meeting," Mycroft replied. "Good afternoon, Lindsey."

Lind smiled as she walked away.

Her phone beeped.

**St Barts Hospital, midnight – Scud**

Lind grinned.

The little parasite never ceased to amaze her.


	5. Staying Alive

**Five**

The morgue was empty, it had been since the lab tech had gone back to his officer to watch TV, fifty pound richer and Lind now fifty pound poorer.

Not that it mattered.

She sat there reading the pathologists preliminary report on the body in the park. No ID on the girl, no prints on the body, only some sick twisted ideal of perfection amongst the innocents of the world.

"When I was asked to come and meet a beautiful woman in a morgue at midnight I must admit my curiosity was peaked," crowed a voice from behind her.

Lind carefully sat the report down on the cold metal lab beside her. "It's interesting."

"What's interesting?" questioned James Moriarty, he stepped out of the shadows with his hands in the pockets of what appeared to be a very expensive suit. He looked to be relatively normal besides the blood red colour of his eyes.

"You smell like a vampire," she started, "you look like a vampire and yet you are not. No one sired you, you're artificial."

"It's marvellous don't you think?" Moriarty smirked. "All the strengths, none of the weaknesses. Had I known that you were here in London-an Elder-I would have designed the virus off you."

"I wouldn't be so easy to catch," Lind replied, crossing her arms.

"Your filthy little friend Scud was adamant that I come and meet with you," he informed her, going from frivolous banter straight into business.

"What does Iscariot want with an artificial vampire?" she demanded to know.

Moriarty laughed. His laugh was full of malice and humour-an odd combination. "I don't know if you expect me to spill my guts, Lindsey Hall, but if you do I think you'll find yourself disappointed."

She laughed. "I wasn't expecting for you to spill the truth." Lind stepped forward until she was only inches away from Moriarty's face. "Are you aware that a vampire can gather memories from the blood of a victim? If I were to drink from you I would know all of your life story."

"You're doing an awful lot of digging into this," he scowled. "Are you doing this for Sherlock Holmes or are you doing this as a good little attack dog for the Organisation?"

"I'm an Elder, as you pointed out," she answered. "It is my business to understand what is going on in my world. There are so few Elder's left with Iscariot hunting us down with their modern weapons and their soldiers. Now here you stand, a vampire freak, a weapon of Iscariot."

"Iscariot and I have chosen to part ways," Moriarty smirked. "They did not agree with my methods, I'm sure if you pay attention to international news that you will see what I mean." His eyes flickered over her. "Stay out of my way Lindsey Hall or I will have you killed."

Lind laughed. "You're threatening me? An Elder? Oh that's rich."

"Sherlock's weakness is that he always wants everything to be intelligent and complex so that when he solves the case he can use his intellect to impress those around him," Moriarty suddenly said. "The very mind that sets him apart from everyone else is what made him fail the first time. Had I known that he was going to fake his own death I would have used better methods against him."

"What's your point?" Lind snapped, starting to get very annoyed at the irritating little man.

"My point is that your strength can be used against you," he smirked. Moriarty reached into his jacket and pulled out a needle which he sat on the slab beside him.

"What's that?" Lind frowned.

"Dead blood," he replied.

Lind stepped back. She may have been an Elder but dead blood always had the same effect on a vampire no matter the age-it paralysed the body and left them completely vulnerable to harm.

"You can try and attack me," he offered. "Only problem is I will get you with the needle before you can finish me off, you will be paralysed."

She paused.

Moriarty grinned when he saw her hesitation. "I knew you would see sense, Lindsey. You understand the game very well."

"The game?" Lind snapped. "This isn't a game. People have died."

"That's what people do!" he roared.

"Stay away from Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," Lind warned. "They're under my protection."

Moriarty laughed. "For someone to be under your protection you have to feed from them. A vampire's scent has to be all over them but even than that wouldn't stop me." He smirked. "And they don't even know that I'm alive. The bullet didn't even tickle."

Lind stepped forward, ignoring the threat of the blood beside him.

She stopped when a small red dot appeared on her chest.

Followed by another.

And another.

And another.

Moriarty grinned. "You see, Lindsey, I didn't come unprepared."

"They're just bullets," she shrugged. "It won't stop me."

"WRONG!" he yelled. "You see I didn't come without someone to look after me. I'm a lover not a fighter." Moriarty tapped his leg, as he did her ears picked up the sound of four shots off in the distance.

In slow motion, Lind stepped aside, watched the bullet as it flew past her. As she turned a second, much slower object followed.

It was a dart.

She managed to dodge the third dart but the forth one hit her straight in the neck.

Lind gasped and pulled the dart from her neck before she threw it to the ground.

"You little shit!" she snapped.

"How are you feeling?" Moriarty asked her.

She stumbled back a little. "What did you do?"

"A little dead blood mixed in with a descent dose of aconitum as well as a small smidge of warfarin," he answered.

Lind's knees wobbled and she reached out for the table for support.

Moriarty walked over to her after she collapsed on the floor. "Oh this is very interesting," he smirked as blood started running from her nose. "The warfarin counteracts the effects of the dead blood just enough so it doesn't paralyse you completely."

He placed a finger against her forehead and pushed her body back onto the floor.

"Cheerio, Lindsey," he grinned.

Moriarty stood and made his way from the morgue whistling something that sounded strangely like _Staying Alive_.


	6. Currency of the Soul

**Six**

John could see that there was two cases on the Consulting Detectives mind as he sat there on the lounge staring up at the roof. His elegant long fingers were steepled underneath his chin whilst he tried to discover the inner workings of the murdered girls and Lindsey Hall, the vampire.

He laughed to himself. _Vampire? Bloody hell, John, a week ago you would have never believed in the existence of vampires._

"Coffee Sherlock?" John asked him, not expecting an answer.

"Don't be ridiculous John," the detective replied. "It's two in the morning, of course I want some coffee!"

He laughed to himself. Sherlock Holmes was a hard man to get along with at the best of times, on a good day he had a God complex the size of a small country, on a bad day-well John never wanted to see him on a bad day ever again.

Whilst the doctor set himself about making them both some coffee there was a loud knock on the door. "Sherlock can you get that?"

Silence.

"Sherlock?" John called out. He stuck his head out of the doorway, Sherlock was sitting on the couch staring at the roof again. He rolled his eyes and sat the coffee tin on the kitchen table on his way to the front door.

He wrenched the door open and silently stared at Lind as she clutched the doorframe, dry blood crusted on her face and down the front of her clothes. "Oh my God, Lindsey! Sherlock!" he yelled, grabbing her so she wouldn't collapse.

John pulled Lind inside the flat, he slammed the door shut with his foot and dragged her over to the couch. "Lindsey are you alright?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "It's better than it looks, John."

John rushed into the kitchen to grab a wet tea towel.

"Sherlock!" he shouted. John shook the man until he came out of his mind palace then went over to Lind to clean her up.

"Well Lindsey you look like a right mess don't you?" Sherlock asked her when he noticed her slumped on the couch.

"Take me to my apartment," Lind gasped. "I've got blood in the fridge."

"Were you poisoned?" Sherlock mused, a grin forming on his face. "I can see the small dart point in your neck."

"Oh for goodness sake Sherlock!" John snapped. "She's hurt."

"She's a vampire," Sherlock replied. "I'm sure she can heal herself."

"It doesn't work like that!" John argued.

"And how would you know?" he asked.

"How do you?" John answered.

Sherlock stared at him. He looked down at Lind and leant in closer, "you need blood I'm assuming?"

Her eyes flickered from green to red than back to green, giving him his answer.

He held his wrist up to her. "Take mine."

"Wait-Sherlock-what?" John gasped.

"Take mine," Sherlock repeated.

"I've got plenty in my flat," she argued. "I just need some help getting there. I didn't trust myself going down the stairs."

John crossed his arms. "What were you doing anyway?" he questioned.

"Take the blood," Sherlock advised her.

Lind shook her head and pushed his arm away. "If I drink from you Sherlock I will be forever connected with you. Your thoughts, you feelings, memories…nothing will be closed from me. I will know everything."

"You drink from others and you're not connected with them," he pointed out.

"Offered blood is different," she groaned. "Blood is the currency of the soul, when it is taken after it is offered a bond is formed. I will know where you are at all times, the offering of blood is deemed as the greatest gift ever given to a vampire."

Sherlock moved his head slightly to the left. "The blood you have stored in your fridge will heal you slowly of the course of a few hours, maybe days, but the benefits of fresh blood will be felt instantly. Don't be stubborn."

John crossed his arms. "You're telling her not to be stubborn?"

The consulting detective ignored him.

"I'm not-not taking your blood Sherlock," Lind argued.

"I noted before that there were no injuries on your body apart from the dart wound on your neck so who poisoned you?" Sherlock inquired.

"All that from a dart wound?" John asked him.

"Aconitum and warfarin," she answered.

"Wolfsbane and an anticoagulant?" Sherlock translated. "Clever. Use the aconitum to disrupt your motor functions and the warfarin to thin your blood." He held his arm up again, a pale, long wrist sticking out of the dark purple suit shirt that he was wearing. "Perhaps we should see what happens if I was to draw blood. How long could you last?"

Lind stared at him.

She glanced up at John. "I suggest if you have something heavy, a frypan, hit me over the head with it if I don't stop."

"Um-sure," he replied hesitantly. The doctor went into the kitchen and came back with a frypan as well as a first aid kit.

Lind shifted on the couch and took Sherlock's arm with her hand.

The consulting detective watched her eyes turn red again and her fangs extend.

She closed her eyes and sniffed his arm, a guttered animalistic sound came from the back of her throat. Leaning forward, she placed her lips against his flesh-his skin was surprisingly soft for someone who rarely ate or slept when his mind was working something particularly complex.

Sherlock bit the inside of his mouth when her fangs penetrated his skin.

Lind had never been willingly gifted blood before, the feel of the ruby substance flowing down the back of her throat was nothing short of drinking a fine, fragrant wine. She bit down harder and her eyes burst open as her body started absorbing the blood into her system.

Never in a thousand years had Lind ever had blood so…so…so good.

Her grip tightened on Sherlock's arm as she continued to drink from him.

Everything that was Sherlock Holmes, his thoughts, his memories, his feelings flowed through her, opening her mind to the complicated man that lived in 221B Baker Street.

"You can stop now!" John called out.

His voice was somewhat hazy.

Lind ignored him.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, the sound of panic now in his voice.

_Lindsey, let go,_ Sherlock whispered.

Her eyes flickered up to him as the final connection was made in her mind.

A large redwood double door opened in her mind and Sherlock Holmes was all there for her to see.


	7. Memories

**Seven**

"Memories are so intimate, so precious, the fact that I have his memories flowing through my head makes me feel like I've known him all my life," she whispered to Sergio as the cat sat there on the top of his scratching post.

Sergio stared at her and yawned, he flicked his tail and returned to his nap.

Lind lay back in her bed and closed her eyes.

_"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?" Moriarty questioned. His hands were in the pocket of his suit, standing casually beside a swimming pool. _

_"Oh, let me guess-I get killed?" he answered, sounding bored. _

_"Kill you?" Moriarty grimaced. "No. Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway, some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." He scanned the consulting detective up and down then met his eyes. "I'll burn the heart out of you."_

_"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock replied. _

_"But we both know that's not quite true," Moriarty corrected. _

_Sherlock blinked. _

_Moriarty looked down, a grin on his face, then he shrugged. "Well I'd better be off. It was so nice to have a proper chat"_

_Sherlock raised the gun in his hand, aiming at Moriarty's head. "What if I was to shoot you now-right now?"_

_"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," he smirked. He opened his eyes and mouth wide, mimicking the look of surprise then grinned. "Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock-really I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." He turned and made his way for the exit. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."_

_"Catch…you…later," Sherlock spoke. _

_"No you won't!" Moriarty shouted out in a song-song voice. _

Sergio hadn't moved.

Lind sat back up in her bed, bright green numbers of her alarm clock read 02:54 am. She threw her legs over the side of the bed as thoughts of the self-proclaimed consulting criminal flowed through her mind.

Two days after feeding from Sherlock, Lind had still yet to sort through all his thoughts and feelings, his memories. People called him a robot but she had it one good authority that Sherlock Holmes could feel he just didn't like to show it.

Yesterday she had gone to meet up with Alistair to discuss the contracts sent to him from Mycroft. Her lawyer had reworded much of the contract alone, Lind wasn't in a very talkative mood.

She stood up and made her way into the lounge room in search for her violin.

The case was in the longue room but the instrument itself was gone. Lind had been using it last before Sherlock came to ask for her opinion on the murders of those children.

"That little bastard," she growled, realising that Sherlock had stolen her violin. "I'm gonna kill him."

She headed towards the front door when another memory blazed brightly in her mind.

_"He's good, isn't he?" Irene smirked. "I should have him on a leash-in fact, I might." She gazed at Sherlock as he sat on the couch, his mind elsewhere. _

_"We destroy this, then," Mycroft announced. "No one has the information."_

_"Fine. Good idea," she nodded. "Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."_

_"Are there?" Mycroft questioned. _

_"Telling you would be playing fair," Irene laughed. "I'm not playing anymore." She reached into her handbag and pulled out a plain white envelope which she pushed across the table towards Mycroft. "A list of my requests, and some ideas about my protection once they're granted."_

_Mycroft took the envelope opened it. He silently unfolded the sheet of paper inside and read the instructions."_

_"I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation-but then I'd be lying," she informed him. _

_Mycroft was speechless._

_"I imagine you'd like to sleep on it?" Irene asked. _

_"Thank you, yes," he answered, still reading. _

_"Too bad," she replied. "Now off you pop and talk to people."_

_Mycroft sank back in his chair. "You've been very thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."_

_"I can't take all the credit," Irene confessed. "Had a bit of help." She looked across at Sherlock. "Jim Moriarty sends his love."_

_Sherlock raised his head. _

_"Yes he's been in touch," Mycroft admitted. "Seems desperate for my attention which I am sure can be arranged."_

_Irene got out of her chair and walked around the table to sit on its edge nearer Mycroft. "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consulting criminal. Gave me a lot of advice on how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man," she looked back to Sherlock, "and the Virgin."_

Lind raised her hand and knocked on the door of the upstairs apartment.

Moments later, John answered the door.

"You're up late," the doctor pointed out when he stepped aside to let her in.

"I don't sleep," Lind answered. "I just stand there and stare at the roof. I'm actually looking for my violin. I think Sherlock stole it."

"Ah," he frowned. "I didn't think Sherlock's violin had a rose carved in on the back." John went over to the arm chair and picked up the violin that was leaning against the small coffee table.

"Is Sherlock awake?" Lind asked him.

"He's gone out for something," John answered.

Lind took the violin and sat in on her lap when she took a seat in one of the armchairs. "On the body we found the other day there was a necklace. It had scratches on the back, won't look like much to regular folks but it's our language."

"Sherlock was babbling on something about that," John laughed. He sat on the other armchair. "So there is an actual vampire language?"

Lind nodded. "Yup. I've recently discovered a game on the X-Box called Skyrim, there is a language of dragons in the game that is somewhat similar to our own. Good game, little long but…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Anyway, the word on the necklace was a name."

"What was the name?" John asked her.

"Moriarty," Lind answered.

John shook his head. "No, Moriarty is dead."

Lind stared down at the violin. "No, he's not. He's a vampire and he's the one that poisoned me."


	8. Not What Is Expected

**Eight**

Lind watched in silence as John paced through the apartment.

He'd been doing it for a few hours, stopping when he thought he was going to talk only to start pacing again.

The sun was actually starting to peak through the curtains, showing how early it actually was.

"Are you actually going to form some words or are you going to keep pacing?" she asked him.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?" John suddenly yelled at her.

Lind raised an eyebrow. "I'm yet to consult a psychologist but I assume I would be classified as somewhat mentally unstable."

"I'M NOT LAUGHING LINDSEY!" he scowled.

She sighed. "John I understand why you're angry but I had to find out for myself what kind of man we're dealing with."

"He's psychotic, obsessive, mad-" John started.

"Like Sherlock?" Lind finished. She leant back on the couch. "James Moriarty isn't a real vampire, he's an artificial vampire. He had a bunch of scientists create a virus, it was then used by a branch of the church known as Iscariot on him before he died."

"Bloody hell!" John cursed. He groaned. "We have to tell Mycroft."

"Mycroft knows," Lind answered. "He asked me not to tell Sherlock but I think the boy has a right to know."

John sat down on the coffee table in front of her. "Before Sherlock comes back I should ask you how you're doing after Moriarty poisoned you." He spat the word Moriarty out like it was rotten.

"Sorting through Serlock's memories are difficult," she confessed. "The sheer brilliance of the man is hard to comprehend. You know even if he doesn't admit it-you are his friend-his only friend."

"I'd like to image that you're his friend as well," John frowned.

Lind laughed. "I'm the vampire neighbour who broke into the flat, went to a crime scene with him and drank his blood. I'm not his friend."

"Well you are mine," John smiled. "As your friend I think that you should tell him. You don't know what Moriarty did to Sherlock, destroying his reputation like that, forcing him to run, go into hiding and vanish from London for years."

Lind raised an eyebrow. "Are you in love with Sherlock?" she asked him.

John shook his head. "No. I'm not gay. Sherlock's only my friend. Could you imagine being in a relationship with that git?"

She actually laughed. "He's unique, I'll give you that."

The two of them turned as a set of footsteps echoed up the stairs in the flat.

Lind stood up when Sherlock came in.

He paused when he saw her, a slight smile appeared in the corner of his mouth only to vanish as quick as it came. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Lindsey?"

_I wonder what she's doing here?_ Sherlock whispered.

"That pendant on the body…" Lind frowned started.

"There's a language on the back," Sherlock cut in. "Never read the language before, it's very-archaic in appearance."

"It's the language of my people," Lind answered.

_The language of her people…_he thought. _I'll have to sit with her and get her to teach it to me one day._

She sat her violin on the couch. "The scratches were a name. Someone's trying to grab your attention."

"If someone is trying to grab my attention why put the name in a language I cannot speak?" Sherlock questioned.

"Well I didn't ask that question when I met him the other night," Lind confessed.

"Ah," he smirked. "The mysterious man who poisoned you. Who is he?"

"I believe you've already met," Lind replied. "The man you are inquiring about was-I mean is-James Moriarty."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"He's a vampire Sherlock," she answered. "Albeit an artificial vampire but he's still a vampire. He's the only one that I can link with the murders of those little girls."

Sherlock stared at her. He didn't say anything but the vampire and the human could clearly see the cogs in his mind kicking it into high gear. He cleared his throat. "I apologize for stealing your violin Lindsay, if you care to see yourself out I have a case to work on."

"Um-sure," Lind frowned. She picked her violin back up off the couch and got up just in time for Sherlock to splay himself out on the couch. She sighed and turned to John, "I guess I'll see you later John."

"Thank you," John smiled, ushering Lind out of the door.

"Yeah," she frowned. Lind looked back at the closed apartment door and made her way back to her own apartment. Just as she got there her phone went off, indicating that she had received a text message.

Flicking it open, Lind found that it was a message from Mycroft.

**How did he take it? – MH**

Lind sighed and sent him a text back.

**Mind your own business – LH **

She sat down on the floor with Sergio and started playing her violin.

This was how Lindsey Hall liked to think.


End file.
